


Belief

by TracingHerWay



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracingHerWay/pseuds/TracingHerWay
Summary: A Christmas fix-it fic, set during 3x07, but with Nick and June both still in DC.
Relationships: Nick Blaine/June Osborne | Offred
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Belief

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges from the show during 3x06. Nick and June's meeting in Winslows’ courtyard still happened, but went a little differently (you can decide for yourself what I mean by that) and the conversation/“revelations” about Nick at the end of 3x06 between the Swiss lady, June and Serena never happened.  
> Thank you to @thismidnight for kindly allowing me to use her gif!
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

_Christmas Eve will find you_

_Where the love light gleams_

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams_

***

Nick stands in the grand doorway and watches the charade roll on. Rows of turquoise and black weave in and out of eachother as the Commanders and their Wives act out their merry little game at the DC Christmas Ball.

He shakes his head a little. _Who are they kidding? What is there to celebrate in a place like this?_

The dancing crowd parts and he sees Fred and Serena in the middle of a circle, an audience building around them, but he averts his eyes. Nick’s not in the mood to play along. Not tonight. Moving into the hall, he asks the man there for his coat, and as soon as it’s handed back to him, he walks out through the sweeping French doors and on to the large patio terrace. It’s dark out here, a few dimly lit lamps lighting spotlights on the wall. Beyond the grey, slabbed paving, a lawn stretches out past a low stone wall, covered in a thick blanket of slow.

He lights up a cigarette as soon as he’s outside and the frosty air starts to bite on his skin, wet flakes catching his hair and his cheeks. He braces himself against the cold, desperate for a hit of nicotine in the back of his throat. It’s the only thing that eases this pitiful existence, even if it’s only ever for a second. Well, the only thing apart from—

“ _Nick,_ ” a sharp whisper rings out to him from the corner.

His head snaps around to the figure in the shadows. He knows that voice anywhere. He sees a red dress catch the light.

It’s her. _How is it her?_

_She shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe._

Instinctively, he checks the surrounding area. There’s no one else out here. Satisfied enough, he walks a few steps towards her, so that he can make her out better. She’s smiling at him, looking almost as surprised as he does.

“June? What are you doing here?”

She shakes her head. It’s not important. She’s just happy to see him.

“The local Marthas are all working in the kitchen. Rita is sick. They let me come and help. I was just getting some fresh air...”

He blinks at her, not quite believing this stroke of luck. That he could see her again, before…

And just like that, he remembers, and his stomach drops.

“You come here often?” she teases, a throwback to their reunion last week.

_Nice girl like you in a place like this_ , he remembers, but the words die on his lips. The joke bounces off Nick this time, and the smile on June’s face fades, replaced by confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

He throws the cigarette on the floor and grinds it out with his shoe, breathing out a cloud of smoke as he does.

“I got my orders,” he says. “I’m leaving for Chicago tomorrow morning.”

The news cuts through the space between them like a punch in the gut. He sighs. Somehow, saying it out loud makes it more real.

Seconds pass; a minute drags out. He doesn’t look at her. Whatever look is on her face right now, he doesn’t want to see it.

But he hears her step towards him tentatively. A hand wraps around his. What she says next, he doesn’t expect.

“Dance with me.”

He can’t help himself; he scoffs in disbelief. But her voice is warm, and it draws him to her. He turns, a confused smile playing on the corner of his mouth, despite his dark mood.

“What?”

“Come on. I wanna dance,” she smiles, taking the edge off their reality; the glowing light from a window bouncing off her cheeks. She’s taken off her cap again, like last time he saw her. She looks beautiful. She always does, to him.

He grins back, a little shyly, and laughs, shaking his head. “I can’t dance…”

She furrows her brow. “Sure, you can.”

She pulls him into the shadows and wraps her arms around his, grabs his left hand in her right.

He trails his other hand down behind her, and it lands in the small of her back. Instinctively, he pulls her into him.

She nods, satisfied. Slowly, they begin to sway. After a minute she pulls back playfully, arms splayed out, prompting him to spin her around under his arm, and he does, albeit a little awkwardly. He’d never got the hang of that move.

She laughs again as she lands back into him. The world around them rocks away. Nick’s tension begins to dissipate. He leans in to kiss her, gently. He smiles against her mouth, and laughs softly.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just.... the things I do for love.”

She pulls back, and purses her lips to stop from laughing at him, then bringing her head to rest on his shoulder. He hears her start to hum a tune he can’t quite make out.

He listens, and kisses the top of her head as it is pressed against his. It's a Christmas song. From Before.

“I wish we were somewhere else,” he mutters. “Anywhere.”

It’s a while before she responds: “Maybe we can be.”

She raises her head back up to him, looking at him tenderly, and presses her forehead into his, closing her eyes.

“I’m not a Handmaid. You’re not a Commander,” she states, as if saying it makes it true. ”We’re not here. We’re safe.”

He watches her, her face so close to his, imagining. In awe of her strength. And then he takes her lead, and closes his eyes, too.

They dance in silence. The music in the air fades out, and he allows his mind to wander, imagining this scene playing out, somewhere else. Somewhere free.

***

_They’re in a house somewhere. The city. Or maybe the countryside. It doesn’t matter where. What matters is, it’s theirs._

_They’re dancing here, too, in the living room, next to the tree, with gold lights and ornaments sparkling from it, filling the room with warmth. On the radio, an orchestra plays a Christmas song along with a singer—_ I'll Be Home for Christmas— _and June sings happily along to it. She doesn’t have to hum it quietly her._

_Snow falls outside—that much is the same. There’s a fireplace. Hannah sits in front of it, smiling and laughing up at them. Holly is shaking presents under the tree._

_He hadn’t known a happy Christmas for a long time. Even before Gilead, before the Sons of Jacob, before he couldn’t hold down a job… not since before his mother had gotten ill. The last Christmas he remembered at home, he had had to put his father, delirious from too many beers, to bed, and he’d sat up waiting for Josh, wondering if he would come home at all that night to see them. He hadn’t. Nick had watched the TV til midnight, every happy film, every smiling child’s face, every image of a family gathered around a piano singing carols a reminder of everything he no longer had. A reminder that Christmas was not a happy time for everyone. He was lost. He’d been forgotten._

_But here? Now? That pain was gone. This was the first_ real _Christmas he’d had in what felt like a lifetime._

_His arms around her. They don’t have to hide here. The girls get up too, and jump around them, dancing and holding hands._

_June laughs, and Holly screams “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” at something, and it’s music to his ears._

***

A wave of applause rings out in the hall inside, and it brings them back to the present. Nick resists opening his eyes, like waking up from a dream he desperately wants to reach again. It was only a snapshot. He didn’t have enough time there.

But she’s still here. She’s still here with him. That much was not a dream. At least, for now.

“I think you’re wrong,” she whispers, breaking the silence, her thumb stroking his cheek.

“What?” he asks softly.

“You can dance just fine.”

He breathes out a quiet laugh, and he loves her for trying, but he can’t quite bring himself to force a smile. It dies somewhere between his eyes and his lips. The moment is gone. He sniffs and kisses her neck, her cheek, the soft, delicate triangle of skin behind her ear… Committing each part to memory, sure that this—here, now—is all he gets. He can’t help the feeling that their time is up; they’ve already used up all their second chances. Her bedroom at Lawrence’s. The Winslows’ courtyard. This is it. This is goodbye.

Her hands close around his face and pull him in. Warm lips find his, and bring him home. One more escape. He moans into it, drowning, the lump in his throat growing as he realises this might be the last kiss.

He can’t pull away—couldn’t even if his life depended on it—but, eventually, she does, gasping for air and squeezing her eyes shut. It’s too much for both of them.

She clasps his face in her hands still, willing him to take in what she’s about to say.

“You stay alive, okay? You do whatever the _fuck_ it takes to stay alive and come back to me. And Holly.”

He swallows.

“You have to believe you will see her again.”

Her eyes are steely blue. Full of love, but firm. There is no room for doubt in them.

He blinks, eyelids fluttering, and glances down a moment as his eyes go blurry. His emotions threatening to get the better of him.

But when he collects himself, and looks back up at her, he’s decided too. He nods.

He does believe.

He will. Because of her.


End file.
